


2 + 2 = 5

by aaronnn



Category: South Park
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - High School, Bromance, Drabble Collection, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Humor, M/M, No Romance, Slice of Life, both are idiots, they just fuck around
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-06
Updated: 2020-05-29
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:06:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 20,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24037843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aaronnn/pseuds/aaronnn
Summary: Stan and Kyle have always been pushing through life hand in hand, ever since middle school. There was unexplainable chemistry between them. The math geek who was weirdly into both, opening his inner chakras and Euclidean geometry. What did that mean? Kyle didn't know, he always thought that words ‘Euclidean’ and ‘geometry’ were equally as disgusting. His best friend was the lab rat who had a strange obsession with punk rock, mismatched socks, and drug documentaries.No one really knew how these two ended up together but it was as strong as a covalent bond, Kyle liked to say. They managed to survive the three years of high school together, barely choking down laughter during their lessons on a daily basis. Senior year came sooner than they'd like to so naturally, they were both about to get into as much mischief as possible.
Relationships: Kyle Broflovski/Stan Marsh
Comments: 17
Kudos: 32





	1. How Sleeping 4 Hour a Night Became Regular

  
“I spend so much money on coffee, I can't believe I let you talk me into this,” Kyle whined and set his bag by the plush chair that he pulled away from the table with an uncomfortable creek. He felt the whole café look at him, sitting down and hiding his face behind the drink list immediately.

“Works every time though,” Stan chimed, opening his bag and pulling out a stack of blank papers, a calculator, and his trusty pencil. He saw Kyle's disgusted look and handed him his papers. “We have a big test tomorrow,” he reminded him but he knew Kyle knew and stressed over it a few times already. 

The waitress came by soon enough, breaking off their bickering over whether the test even is worth it. Stan knew Kyle already had half of the equations down but was just being incredibly lazy. In the end, he convinced him to go over his notes together. Their order came, Kyle presented with the smallest cup of strong espresso, ordering a double when looking at the equations present. He never noticed when the math they were doing lost all the numbers and gained all the letters but he wasn't amused. Stan was looking at a caramel latte. Without the straw, of course. Stan liked to say Kyle's coffee was as bitter as him. Kyle would always insult his ‘baby coffee for babies because no self-respecting adult would drink that’ and they'd carry on. He almost couldn't look at the bitter shot Kyle always ordered. “Did you even eat today?” he cautiously asked, looking at his watch. Three pm.

“That's classified information.”

“I can't believe your eating regime is even worse than your sleeping schedule.”

“You can't say sleeping 4 hours a night has been doing me wrong,” Kyle patted his cheek, letting Stan know he still hasn't lost any of his looks, or his wit, or his brains. Stan wanted to object.

“The bags under your eyes would suffice me to pack for a two-week long vacation.” He knew he himself wasn't sleeping much more. But in his case, it was okay. He had a lot of math problems to solve and his economy seminar was getting the best of him. He didn't care about his sleep but he did care about Kyle's. And Kyle cared about Stan's. They just cared like that.


	2. Always Watch Out For the Last Rock

“God, a whole week in nature,” Kyle whined, barely carrying his duffel bag. It was hard to figure out exactly how many sweatpants and shirts that reached his elbows to pack. Enough to still leave some space for snacks and sweets, he guessed. 

Stan walked by him, cheerful as always. They'd just gotten off the train along with 60 other people and were currently making their way through the forest to their cabins. They heard they'll be grouped by three, not sure who their partner for the week will be. 

“Come on! Do you see how nice the view here is?” Stan threw his arms around, showing Kyle the river that ran along with them and the trees growing by it. 

“Sure. Trees. Beautiful.”

“It'll be fun!”

“What will be fun? Them trying to teach me how to use a stupid magnetic compass fourth year in a row? Good luck, I somehow managed to block it out each time.”

Stan knew there was no getting through to Kyle, he'll be cranky until he either has coffee or a nap. In the best case, a coffee and then he dozes off for 3 hours. He had to wake up so early too, at 7 am, and it showed. And now he'll have to spend the next week in a wooden, rotting cabin full of bugs and vermin. Their school's tradition of teaching kids how to survive in the wild was cute and all and he was excited until it was actually his turn to go and learn how to survive. 

Kyle was glad to finally throw his belongings on the creaking bed and throw himself down along with them. They grouped up with Kenny, glad to have him for the week. Stan and Kenny gladly engaged in conversation Kyle blocked out, only overhearing they're going canoeing later today. 

“Canoeing?” he shot up from the bed, hoping they'll assure him they said something different or that it's not compulsory. 

“Yeah. It's going to be so fun!” Stan laughed, telling Kyle about how much fun it was last year. Kyle didn't go, knowing he didn't need to. And Stan continued on telling him what a blast he had with Kenny, falling off of the boat and scraping his leg and barely making it to the finishing point before a storm came. “We literally saw lightning in the distance! Crazy!” 

Stan spent the time sitting on the sill, taking in each photon, and each breath of fresh air that was outside. If he could, he would've slept outside under a tree. Or in a tree. He'd turn into Tarzan if left unchecked for long enough, Kyle was sure. 

Okay, canoeing maybe sounds fun.

  
“Oh no, no, no,” Kyle stopped on the bridge, looking over the wide river and a few canoes that were already sailing. His head spun a little when he saw the instructors pushing the canoes into the water and watching them sail away. So they'll be left on their own, with the competent people somewhere in the back if he understands correctly. That would've been fine if it weren't for their supervisors telling them ‘if you fall out of the canoe, lay in the water and float head down the stream so you don't break both your legs on a branch’. Don't break _both_ his _legs_? On a _branch_? 

“I mean you could've come more prepared,” Stan teased him, helping him tighten his lifejacket. He saw the stress in Kyle's eyes as he looked over the canoes and paddles that were left on the side. 

“I wore shorts, for Christ's sake. What more do you want me to do.”

“Maybe don't wear white sneakers. Dude, we'll get wet. Like _wet_ wet,” Stan laughed and put on his helmet. Wet. God damn, isn't the whole point of those stupid canoes to not get wet? “I picked us the green one. They're the lightest.”

After hearing more terrifying instructions from the supervisors, such as the water being eight feet deep at some places or to expect rocks, jumps and branches slapping you across the face, they were set to sail. Stan said he'd sit in the back, taking care of the boat's drifting while Kyle will sit in the front, only having to worry about their speed. It was an easier job to do. Just grab your paddle and go left or right, you'll get the hang of it. Or so they told him. 

Kyle grabbed the front of the canoe and Stan held the back, ready to push it to the river and hop in. His push was met with only Kyle's calves, his friend standing there as stoic as a statue. “Get in, loser, we’re going canoeing.”

“Are you insane? I'm not getting into that,” he whined with a little bit of fear in his voice, standing his place until Stan pushed the canoe further, making him lose balance and stumble into the water up to his ankles. He dreadfully scanned the canoe, looking at the thin wooden plank he'll be sitting on for the next few hours. Stan said he picked the lightest one, yet they barely carried it down to the shore.

“Get in!” Stan yelled one more time, looking over his shoulder to tell Kyle that people are waiting behind them. And so with his shoes already wet, Kyle hopped into the canoe and let Stan push them into the open water. It's cool he chose the lightest one but Christ, this looked wonky.

Kyle couldn't believe the river of curses that left his mouth when they were on the water for the first time. He didn't want to say it was the most terrifying thing but his yells told their story. Only now did it hit him that they were sailing, only two of them in the eight feet radius and the boat was dangerously tipping over to both sides. Mostly thanks to him panicking and rocking from left to right, trying to regain his balance until Stan hit him from behind, telling him it's okay. He’s sitting in a plastic tube in the middle of a running river, this is far from okay. Stan had a more important job in their team, steering the boat where needed. 

“This is. Insane. I hate it,” Kyle cried out, a scream leaving his throat again when the boat rocked from left to right. He couldn't get used to the feeling of sitting on open, running water.

“Dude, chill. It's a calm river. There are no rocks in sight. Now paddle if you want us to move somewhere.”

  
“Shit, shit, shit, Kyle, paddle!”

“I'm trying!”

“You paddle worse than my dog! And he's three pounds!”

“Then steer harder! Christ, that rock is so big.”

“Paddle better! If my hair touches this water, I'm throwing you in myself.”

“Get us out of the way then, you fucking walnut!”

“I can't get us out of the way until you start paddling for once!”

“It's hard!” Kyle only heard Stan's incohesive swearing after that, feeling the rock scrape against the side of their canoe, tipping them lightly to the right. Kyle already saw them in the water but thankfully, they scraped just past it. He's never felt such relief in this life.   
“That was close.”

Kyle didn't have the emotional capacity to reply, looking forward if he sees any more rocks. He felt like he brushed hands with death, only ripped out of his morbid daydreams when he heard yells and splashes, turning around promptly. All they saw was an empty canoe and Kenny with Butters keeping afloat by their lifevests and kickboards. The instructors were pulling the boat out of the water and they just helplessly floated in once place, the water too deep for them to reach the bottom. They looked so wet and miserable. Kyle gripped his paddle a little harder, afraid it might slip too. 

  
“Oh no, do you see that?”

“See what?”

“Trees!” Kyle yelled, seeing they're heading straight for the branches. They were floating atop of the water, leaving no space for them to sail under. “Steer!”

“No steer!” Stan opposed, pointing at the sea of rocks that were right in the middle of the river.

Kyle felt panic creeping upon him, the jungle in front of them dangerously close. 

“Duck!” Stan yelled from behind and laid down in their boat but it was too late for Kyle now, getting slapped and whipped by all the branches. When they emerged, Stan congratulated himself but Kyle had more work with pulling wet leaves out of his hair and shirt.

  
It's been two hours since they sailed. It’s been pure chaos but Kyle was gleaming, feeling like he's already getting the hang of it. They passed a few jumps they sailed through with no problems, he wanted to say they were pros but ended up stranded in a shallow dip with rocks. He had no problem propelling them forward and missing all the rocks, big, small, branches, whatever.   
“They want to take a break,” Kyle yelled back after Stan, passing the message from another boat.

“We should park the canoe on the shore.”

“How do you park a boat?”

“Like a car.”

“Neither of us have driving licenses.”

  
It was nearing the end and neither of them could be happier, they already had blisters and bruises on their hands, wet shoes, and drenched legs. The sun was gleaming so much they were in for some unfortunate tan lines. The finishing spot was less than 50 feet away, both already saw some people disembarking. They both felt the sweet victory of sailing through the route without any problems, one last shallow end to dodge and they're there.

The jump steered their canoe towards the rocks, running over tiny rocks under the water except one that stuck out. Both paddled as hard as they could but to vain, one last rock that stuck out becoming their demise. Kyle didn't even have time to yell, their canoe flipping to the side and throwing Kyle out. He barely registered that he was underwater for that moment, while the boat straightened up and ran over him, keeping his head down. 

Kyle quickly stood up, shocked by what had happened. He looked around, seeing that their boat is now upside down since it got water inside, their paddles are in the middle of the ricer and that Stan is standing nearby, dry from waist up. 

The worst part was, however, that the water didn't even reach their mid-calves.   
He almost drowned in water that doesn't even reach his knees.

“You didn't get thrown into the freaking water?” he yelled after Stan who apparently had a great time looking at him as Kyle wiped his face and undid his helmet to let all of the water out. Kyle didn't know this was what Stan meant by getting wet wet. His friend had the luck of only falling out, not getting absolutely trashed by a plastic boat as he did. 

“Guys! The finishing point's there, not here!” Stan could've sworn if he had the paddle with him, it would end up thrown at the instructor. 

  
“I can't believe we flipped over on the last rock,” Stan squeezed his shirt to let some of the water out while they made their way to the train station. The water was still dripping off them, splashing around in their sneakers as they walked and mud and water flora sticking literally everywhere. 

“That's our luck.” 

They arrived at the train station, glad the sun was so hot so they'd dry out sooner. It wasn't a train station per se, rather a small metal box where a train arrived every so often. They were told a train would come to pick them up in a few minutes. 

There was no platform anywhere near since the stop was in the middle of the field. That didn't seem like such a problem until the train arrived and their teachers and instructors urged them to hop right in since this wasn't a planned stop and the train shouldn't even legally be taking them.

Stan was already up in the train but Kyle had his concerns, the loading platform was too high for him. Whose idea was this, climbing illegally into a train in the middle of the field. 

The first step of the platform was in line with his shoulders and he looked up in fear, seeing Stan offering him a hand. No way he's pulling himself up that high, he couldn't lift 20 pounds in the gym. “It's too high!” he yelled after his friend, afraid the train might leave him there. The students waiting behind him only added to the stress of barely reaching the railing he held onto. Shit, shit, shit, what if he can't pull himself up? He threw his backpack up along with his hoodie, grabbed onto the railing, and pulled himself up with some kind of primal strength he never knew he had.   
  
“Good job,” Stan patted his back and sat on the metal floor. Turns out they all hopped into a cargo train, positive that they moved kettle before they loaded a bunch of drenched students, judging by the smell. “You okay now, merman?” Stan teased, pulling out algae from Kyle's hair.

“I will commit a felony if someone mentions any of this to me.”

  
Kyle glared at everyone he passed on his way to their cabin. The sun already dried their clothes on the way back but he was still pulling wet leaves and branches out of everywhere. Stan seemed to already make peace with what had happened.

“Dude.”

“What.”

“Your leg,” Stan pointed at Kyle's knee, seeing a blue bruise across a good half of his shin. Kyle froze in surprise, observing the blue and purple splotches on his lower leg. Must’ve happened when he hit the rocks. Between getting drowned and trying to flip the boat over, he didn’t even notice.

“I swear to God, I'm suing this school.”

“You're still not over how we fell yesterday?”

“You mean drowned? Yeah, I still can't look at anyone who passed us when we stood in the water like idiots,” Kyle ran his hands over his face, sprawling over a good half of the bench they found behind their cabin. The hill spread out quite far, giving space for whatever activities they needed to do. 

Stan and Kenny were trying to fit themselves on what was left of the bench, barely sitting. Kenny took the courtesy of turning to his side and laying his legs over Kyle and Stan, not content with sitting thigh to thigh with the tallest kid he knew. 

Stan sneezed. 

And then he sneezed again.

And again.

“Dude, no.”

“Don't tell me your allergies are here,” Kenny groaned, looking at his friend as he wiped his teary, irritated eyes. He nodded, they were here and they were here to stay. The tissues he packed were starting to no be enough and in a minute, he was back with two new packs, a plate of allergy pills and some eye drops. 

“You came prepared.”

“I think I packed more pills than shirts, I'll tell you that,” Stan handed Kenny the eyedrops and laid on the bench, his head in Kenny's lap. “I'll need you to drip two into each eye.”

Kenny looked at the bottle and tried to squeeze the top, realizing he can't do it with one hand. Why the hell did they make it tough? Stan was already looking up at him, wondering why he wasn't yet met with the sweet relief of eye drops. 

He pressed the tip with both his hands, Stan closing his eyes as soon as the drop dripped. Kenny tried once again, Stan shutting his eyes again. “Sweetie, you'll need to keep your eyes actually open.”

“I'll try.”

Kenny tried again but Stan closed his eyes each time. 

“Hold them open!”

“I can't! You try keeping them open when someone's dripping stuff into your eyeballs!”

“You gave me the drops.”

“My eyes scratch like hell, I can't turn my reflexes off like that.”

Kenny gave Kyle who sat on the other side of Stan a begging look. He got the message, leaning over Stan from the back of the bench. “I'm doing this for your own good,” he apologized, holding his eye open while Kenny finally dripped the damn drops into his eyes.

Kenny couldn't help but let out a victorious yell, getting everyone's attention. “You all okay?” Butters yelled from the field, keeping the ball tightly in his hands. They gave back assuring nods, unaware that the whole display looked like a medieval torture scene. 

“Are you okay?”

“I can finally see so I'd say yeah,” Stan rubbed his eyes, popping out a pill that will hopefully stop his scratching throat. 

  
“What the hell is the school chaplain doing here?” Kyle whispered to Stan, fiddling with his lunch.

“Watch your language, young man!”

“What?”

“You can't say hell and chaplain in one sentence,” Stan nudged his elbow in between Kyle's ribs, almost making him fall off of the chair.

“I've accidentally used Stan and intelligence in one sentence and yet, I'm still here,” he teased his friend, receiving his favorite eye roll and mocking voice. 

“He goes every year as supervision. Who do you think teaches the kids how to fire an airgun?”

  
“An airgun?” Kyle stood afar from the kids currently on the range, aiming their weapons at the tiny metal targets. Some laid and some sat and it was so incredibly weird to watch them load the tiny metal bullets into the airgun and aim. If they hit the target, it rang with a clink. “The chaplain is teaching us how to fire an airgun?” 

“It's the most absurd thing I've heard too, don't worry. Oh, it's our turn.”

Kyle couldn't even expose the cylinder to load up his toy gun, the chaplain having to help him. Stan laid next to him, already in the position to shoot. “This is ridiculous,” Kyle whispered to his friend, laying on his stomach to aim. Stan had no problem shooting the three rounds, hitting two out of three. 

“This is way harder than in video games, you know.”

“You can do it,” the chaplain encouraged him, telling him how to aim after he missed the first shot. His ego took a hit, half of his class watching him miss the damned target. But a few deep breaths later and a small pep talk later, he shot and then shot again, hearing the clink both times. 

  
“I'm a God and no one can tell me otherwise,” Stan stretched himself on the grass, hoping they won't be dragged into any more ‘activities that will help you survive in the wild’. Sure, sounded great until he realized he was standing in the middle of a field, playing volleyball with a water balloon. Because that surely is a survival skill. He only really felt like himself when he laid into the grass, pulling Kyle to lay with him. It was still a little wet and pleasantly cold as it battled with the sun shining down. “Ain't this the life?”

“We hit the same number of shots,” Kyle fought for his ego, flipping away an ant that was crawling on his chest. Stan sometimes called them his friends. Kyle has never seen him crush a bug. Except once in sophomore year when Kyle suddenly got sick during a school trip and had to stay in his room with a fever. Stan made sure he kept him company and that also meant chasing the big fly that was bugging him with his trashy romance novel. 

He really liked trashy romance novels 

And also spiritual books.

But sometimes you just need the trashiest novel you can find, for the sake of a healthy mind.

Stan liked the feeling of grass on his skin. It made him feel calm and relaxed and like he could reset his energy. He felt like that every time the sun warmed his face or rain fell on his hair. Nature was his favorite place. A second home. 

“Hold my fu- Hold my hand, oh my God,” Stan squealed when his foot slipped on the wet leaves. Kyle was quick to grab his hand tighter than a vacuum seal, tripping and slipping on the branches a few times himself. 

Kyle was over this whole trip. Three days seems long enough, unfortunately, he’s looking at two more. 

Taking a hike seemed like a good idea, he liked to go hiking. There were two paths that lead to the most upper viewpoint of the hill. One that takes a bit longer but is overall not very steep, a path for regular people. And then there’s the one they were taking, courtesy of their professors, that zooms you up right across the whole hill. They forgot to mention it’s basically two hours of climbing up a 70-degree hill, through wet leaves and branches.

Kyle didn’t like to admit it but the school chaplain that he saw maybe two times total throughout the whole year in the school’s corridor became his moral support. He was there to give him a pep talk when his knee started acting out. “God, how much longer?”

“I’m not God, just a chaplain. Probably another hour up this hill.”

Kyle lost track of all the times he had to stop himself from saying ‘Jesus fucking Christ’ just because the chaplain would hear him. 

The view wasn’t even worth it. Of course, Stan was all over it. How he saw their cabin in the distance and you could see the whole forest and all the hills and mountain tops in the distance. It was useless to try to talk to him while he was recharging. And all those little trains, you can see little trains approaching the little train station! Kyle was just glad to have a rock to sit on.

The way back turned out to be even more of a trouble. “My kneecaps are leaving.”

“I threw out my knee three times playing- Oh shit, this is slippery. Playing Just Dance and it still works better than yours.”

“I had to get _shots_. Into my _knees_.”

“You had one skiing accident and your kneecaps just quit. Weak ass plattelas.”

“Don’t go at me with your Latin nonsense my dude, it doesn’t erase- Ah! The fact you threw out your knee dancing to Kylie Minogue.”

“And?”

“And you didn’t even get five stars.”

“And yet here we are, praying to make it down without any more injuries.”

Stan kept on gripping onto Kyle’s hand and vice versa, their souls leaving each time one of them tripped. 

  
“Late for breakfast?” Butters teased the group of friends that arrived 15 minutes late, groggily making it to the main hall. Kyle didn’t even look up from the ground, pouring himself a cup of tea. 

“We had to wait for Kyle to find his concealer. He wouldn’t let us leave without him,” Kenny sat at the table, giving Kyle an accusing glare. 

“Well, maybe I wouldn’t need to conceal the bags under my eyes if someone didn’t stay up till three watching a movie about a dog.”

They didn’t need to say anything more for Butters to understand. “Did they cry?”

“So much,” Kyle whispered, laying his head in his palms. He was so tired. 

“I’m in touch with my emotions, for your information. You’d cry too if you saw the dog at the end,” Stan defended himself. “We slept four hours the night before just because you had too much sugar and kept on dancing.”

“You can’t play Destiny’s Child to sleep-deprived Kyle and expect me not to shake my ass!”

In the end, they didn’t sleep much more. But the late-night jokes and deep talks were so worth it. As was standing by the window for hours and looking up at the stars. Stan could finally see all of them clearly and he wondered if he’d ever seen anything as beautiful. Or trying to hide the footprint they left on the wall after Kyle chucked his shoe at a mosquito. Or laughing until they couldn't even stand. It was all worth falling into that stupid river for. 


	3. Never Let Stan Drink Too Much

“I don't believe my hair will stay like this,” Kyle whined while holding a strand of his hair in a perfect little curve, hoping it'll survive the party looking just like that. He already burned himself with the straightening iron twice so how his hair ends up looking is god's will. Kyle looked back at his friend, wondering if he's all ready for the party they were invited to.

Instead of finding him in front of a mirror, finishing the last touches, he sat on the edge of the bathtub, enjoying a plate of pancakes. 

“You're all ready?’ Kyle unplugged the hair tool and fixed his hair in place. Stan only shook his head as an answer, unbothered. 

“No.”

“And?” Kyle worried a little, looking at Stan's unbuttoned shirt and messy hair. 

“I made so many pancakes. I don't know what happened,” he sobbed, cutting into the fifth pancake of the evening. He knew they were going to be late anyway, with only 30 minutes to get to the club. He tried to convince his friend to eat some, only managing to stuff three down Kyle's throat. 

Kyle fixed his shirt, debating how many buttons he should leave open. Curse Token and his cursed dress code and fancy club. “I can't believe Token's parents booked him a whole club for his birthday.”

“I mean it's his last before he leaves for college. I guess they wanted him to go out with a bang.” Stan finally set aside his plate and ran his hands through his hair, deciding to keep the messy look. He looked cute, whatever. Gel won't keep the mess on his head down anyway.

Kyle called them a taxi, running around the whole house to look for his belongings. Stan didn't seem to care too much, it's just a party after all. “I can't wait to be stuck in a room full of shitfaced drunk people I don't know,” Kyle whined, fixing his hair for the last time. Their taxi arrived and he was almost sure he forgot something.

Stan hated champagne. It tasted like piss to him but that was Token's choice of a toast. So just to be polite, he walked around with it until he could hand it to Kyle who didn't mind the taste. He quietly set it near his assigned place, heading out to mingle and set Kyle's and his present to the pile while the rest of the people arrived and all the formalities were over. 

Stan never minded meeting new people. He'd always come in like a ray of sunshine and talk to everyone and anyone. Kyle never understood how he could just do that, rather sitting on his chair with a glass of champagne and scrolling on his phone. He just waited for the mood to get a little looser. God, this was so awkward. His anchor, Stan, was out, chatting with a group of people Kyle barely recognized. He managed to escape as soon as he saw a photographer. 

“Dude, who's that?” Kyle whispered, nodding towards a young face in the crowd. He hasn't seen him before but he seemed like he knew all the people pretty well, twisting his arm with someone to take a shot with them.

“I think that's... Clyde. Token's friend.” Well, of course. They were all Token's friends.

“Damn. Is he even old enough to drink?” 

“I mean... probably not. Let the boy have some fun, look at how he's dancing and all.” 

This whole party wasn't what he expected, with a DJ, an MC and what seemed was unlimited alcohol. Token was making rounds, making sure everyone was having a great time. He was obviously a few shots into the game, smiling and hugging everyone a little more than usual. “Hey.”

Kyle's peace was disturbed. Token's old friend found this lost soul and decided to strike up a conversation. Token introduced them before, her name was Bebe. She sat on the chair next to him, talking about the party. She also held a glass of champagne and before he knew it, he was giving her his social media handles. Well, that sure was quick, Kyle caught Stan's glance, knowing he won't hear the end of this. He excused himself before she could continue talking, already turned away by her saying ‘you look so much better in real life than in photos’. Who the hell says that?

“Someone's getting hit on?” Stan teased, twisting the shot glass in his hands. He took a while off dancing, he tried to convince Kyle to go dancing too but couldn't get through to him. Stan called him boring, Kyle argued he still had an image to uphold. 

“I don't think so. How many shots are you in?”

“Like... three? I don't know dude, this just isn't doing anything for me. I don't feel anything!” Stan complained but Kyle was worried about the combination of unlimited alcohol for the guests and what seemed to be smaller glasses, not shot glasses. He was pretty sure they were glasses from the café next door, the ones they bring you with coffee. “Do you think it's the cake? Like... Like the glucose is doing some shit or something? You're like a chemist.” 

Okay, the shots were definitely doing something to Stan. It probably wasn't the cake that they brought out with freaking fireworks, right after Token's parent handed him the keys to a car. No, not his first car. A newer car. “Mind going to the bathroom with me?”

Kyle almost left Stan alone, he took so long. Kyle was almost positive he spent the time looking into the mirror fixing his hair and pointing finger guns at his reflection. “Dude, while I waited, we got invited for some drinks by... Okay, don't be too obvious. Those chicks by the bar,” Stan whispered, Kyle turning around in the most obvious way possible. Sometimes, he didn't read social cues well or he just simply didn't care. “I mean I told them we had everything but... They seem nice.”

They were on their way back to the party when they passed a room full of older ladies, most of them yelling something incoherent. They wouldn't give it much thought if it weren't for the man leaving after that. “Did we just see a... stripper?”

“I mean, how many men walk around in just a towel and a firefighter helmet?” And that wasn't even the top of the evening.

  
Stan managed to lose track of both, Kyle and the number of shots he's had. But he was feeling great, living it up on the dancefloor or darting between people to talk to. For a good half an hour he was gone, casually leaving for a midnight walk around the town with a girl whose name he didn't remember. He felt like the night was only beginning for him though the world was starting to turn a little bit. It was fun.

“Dude! Dude, come with me,” he grabbed Kyle out of nowhere, dragging him away from a conversation with Bebe. “I think she's into you.”

“Irrelevant. How are you doing?”

“Great! Great. This is such a great party, man, I talked with Wendy? She's so cool, she's studying... Something. And Clyde already left, along with Craig. And... And someone is sitting out-outside after downing five shots in 15 minutes. Butters dances like so well, we are the _stars_ of the dance floor.”

“Dude, you should drink some water,” Kyle poured his friend a glass, hoping he won't feel this in the morning. He probably will.

“Water? You mean vodka,” Stan laughed, drinking down another shot but it went down the wrong pipe. Kyle couldn't believe the sight of Stan choking right after he chose vodka instead of water. “What are you holding there?” he pointed at the glass with red liquid Kyle has been holding for the last 20 minutes, right after he caught his breath. 

“Um, vodka with... strawberry juice.”

“Why aren't you drinking it?”

“I hate strawberry juice.”

“Why did you-”

“Look, I said I've never drunk clean vodka and Bebe asked if I wanted to mix it with some juice and asked if strawberry is okay and I just panicked and this is disgusting now.” Stan let out the loudest sigh and took the glass from his hands and put it onto someone else's assigned place. 

“It's their problem now.” Shortly after, they were approached by a waiter, asking if he can bring them anything. Stan assured him they have everything they need, chugging some water to keep his head from spinning so much.

“Actually, I'll have an Aperol Spritz,” he stopped the waiter, the boy obviously glad to see someone's who's at least half sober. 

“An Aperol Spritz,” Stan repeated with a mocking voice. “You're so fucking bougie. Get shitfaced on vodka like, like the rest of us commoners.”

“I'm taking it easy! We still have to get home. Together, mind you.” Kyle couldn't even guess how offended Stan would be by that statement. And how outraged he'd be by learning this is his only drink after the two glasses of champagne he had as a toast. 

“That... That is-s it, my dude. I'm getting you tipsy, boozed, drunk and wasted next weekend. 'S my d-duty.”

“Sweetie, you better worry about tangents and cotangents next weekend,” Kyle teased his friend, remembering the test they have planned. He couldn't believe he was bringing up trigonometric functions to someone who's eight shots deep. But the confused look in Stan's eyes was so worth it, he could literally see his brain sending out the last three electric impulses for the night. 

“Tangents and-... Contact... gents. Genes. Contagenes? Dude, I think I-... Missed the schoo- class for that. Wait! N-No, no. Tangents is tangents and coretagents is... cotangents. And tangents... No, no sines zero is... cosinuses one.” Kyle had to admit, considering how little sense he made, he managed to stay mathematically correct. That's just to show that he's got numbers in his blood.

“You know... what, you know what kids. Fuck trigoni... Trigero... Fuck those degrees. You on-nly really need to know how to multi-i-ply,” he sang. “Seven times seven, forty-two. All that shit.”

“This makes as much sense as two plus two equaling five,” Kyle sighed, pouring Stan another glass. Stan laughed. He does, he makes sense. He liked the saying. They often said it together when something ridiculous happened or when they were angry or honestly, whenever. One would say two plus two? And the other would reply five. Or they'd just say two, two, five, to be brief. Test happening on Tuesday instead of Friday, when it was actually supposed to? Two, two, five. The barista giving you a nasty look after you asked about your forgotten order? You guessed it. That one chick picking a fight with you in class just for the sake of it? Two, two, five.

It started in freshmen year and dragged into senior year. Kyle didn't even notice he used it fluently in normal conversations with other people, not giving it a second thought or stopping to explain. He just said two, two, five, and carried on. Stan did the same. Sometimes, they'd catch the other saying it just so naturally. It was very sweet.

  
Kyle was ready to go home. Stan was ready to tear the dance floor a new one. “How much did you drink?”

“Four... F-Five? Hm, no. Seven! Eleven!” Stan victoriously exclaimed, adding that he isn’t that drunk, really. He was wasted, no doubt about that, but Kyle was glad he was still walking straight without any problem and forming coherent sentences. Okay, eleven shots are kinda impressive. 

He took his eyes off of Stan for one second to talk to Token who was sitting next to him, mumbling something incoherent to himself. It was his birthday, of course he had one too many. “Shit was great, huh?” he laughed, sprawling himself all over the chair. Thankfully, it was around two am and the rest of the bar was emptying. They all decided to go sit on the terrace, the summer air hopefully sobering up some of them while still seeing the bar and dancefloor through the sliding glass doors.

“No, no, I know how this works,” Stan laughed, Kyle turning around to see him talking with some guys who stopped by their table. 

“Come on, just one drink,” one of them repeated, he looked like the leader of the pack. Kyle's protector senses were activated, watching Stan so he wouldn't move an inch from the table. No way he's letting him go off with them.

“I'll just have water,” Stan replied, obviously having fun bantering with the guy. But Kyle felt uneasy, maybe it was his paranoid side acting up or just his protective side keeping an eye on Stan. 

“Just one drink, come on.”

“I... No, you can bring me my drink here.”

‘‘Oh, someone's bossy, huh? Would you look at him,” the man said to his friend. God, what kind of macho bullshit is he trying to act out? Maybe he couldn't tell how drunk Stan was. 

“Water or nothing, goodnight fellas.”

“Come on, we'll invite some of your friends too.”

“No, no, I told y'all my terms and conditions. Water here or no go, amigo.” With a bitter smile, the guys left and Kyle wasn't quite sure what happened. They said they'd be by the bar if he changed his mind and Kyle couldn't believe how disgusting some men were. 

“You know I wouldn't let you go,” he checked with Stan, taking from him the plastic straw he has been biting into for the last three minutes.

“Yeah, yeah. But they weren't like, intrusive. Right?”

“They were pretty sleazy.”

“I mean they were kinda hot.”

“Bad vibes, my dude.”

“But they weren't like... annoying, right? They weren't, no? They weren't intrusive.”

“They were very much a pain in the ass.”

“But still kinda hot, huh? Not... sleazy and all. Right?”

Kyle took his eyes off of Stan for two more seconds. When he looked back, he was gone. It didn't take too long to find him, Butters and him dancing alone in the empty bar. Kyle wasn't quite sure what kind of figures his friend and the boy were doing but it was hard to keep a serious face looking at them. He pulled out his phone, zooming in on them. “Oh man, that's mean,” Token whispered to him, he'll be able to hear him on the video later.

“I'm pretty sure he'll want to see this in the morning,” he giggled, watching Stan spin Butters around and pull out some Travolta-esque moves. Kyle never knew Stan watched Saturday Night Fever. Or, in his case, he was pretty sure he didn't. But he was dancing as if he did.

  
Kyle couldn't believe he finally managed to pry Stan away from the party, literally having to pull him by the waist while carrying all their belongings and coats, and also Stan at this point, to the car. He left his stuff at Stan's, knowing his parents wouldn't be the happiest if he arrived home at 4 am. Especially when he texted his mom at one, saying he's at Stan's place, ready to go to sleep.

Stan's parents didn't take this too seriously. He dragged Stan back into the house, unlocking the door. He didn't expect his dog to come charging out, ecstatic to finally see his owner after the whole night. Kyle just hoped the puppy would stay silent. But Stan didn't, dropping to his knees and greeting his dog with the most loved up voice. “Hi, baby. Hi, hi, I missed you. Stan missed you. God, Kyle, look at him. Look at Sparky,” he whispered, holding the dog up so Kyle could look into his empty eyes. 

Now, Kyle liked Sparky. He was always so excited to meet him, jumping up and down his leg. But sometimes, when he'd look into his eyes, he'd see just a blank space with elevator music playing in the background. 

It took Stan a while to finally stand up from the hall room tiles and blindly find his way to the bathroom. He didn't sit on the edge of the bath, he didn't stand in front of the mirror and pull himself together. No, he laid in the bath and almost fell asleep. “My... my man. Dude. Kyle. My necklace,” he whined, realizing also that the bath is still wet. 

Kyle sighed and fiddled with the closing of the accessory, managing to almost tear it apart instead of undoing the latch. He wanted to go put it in Stan's bedroom so they wouldn't lose it, stepping out only to be surprised by a dark figure standing right by the door. He thought all life has left his body, jumping and holding on to the door. He hoped Stan's mom didn't hear the ‘oh fuck’ that left his mouth. “Morning, Mrs. Marsh.”

“Morning, Kyle,” the woman replied, popping into the bathroom to check on her son. Kyle only heard ‘no, no, I'm fine, ma'’, ‘nah, not that much,’ coming from the bathroom before, what he assumed, was Stan falling asleep in the bathtub.

Stan's new bed was high. Very high, to the point where Sparky fell down a few days ago and was now afraid to jump up or down. They dragged Kyle a spare mattress from the guest room into Stan's before they left for the party, so they could sleep in together. 

Stan wasn't too ready for bed though, sitting on his chair with an unbuttoned shirt and unbuttoned pants. He accidentally threw his belt on the ground. He barely made it to the bed after shedding the last bits of clothing except for his boxers. He had that much dignity left. Kyle, on the other hand, used the time while Stan had an existential crisis to do whatever skincare he needed in the dark. Sparky was running around the room, woken up from his sleep. 

Stan took the dog up on the bed with him, the puppy always sleeping on the pillow next to him. Kyle was glad to be finally in bed, knowing he'll only get in four hours of sleep before they'll have to wake up. Oh no. Oh no, he forgot Stan has work tomorrow. Stan forgot he's working tomorrow. Kyle didn't want to disturb him now that he's finally quiet after talking non-stop on their way home.

“I'm not drunk. Like at all.”

“Oh shit, the sun's coming up.”

“Today was great. I got asked to the bar a few times and also didn't throw up.”

“I'm seriously so not drunk.”

“Dude, I'm sober. I could've drunk more, I really should've.”

“You should text Bebe tomorrow.” Kyle refused. Of course he refused, when she accidentally aid that she was talking to him because he seemed lonely and sad at the party. Okay, no, he just wasn't as drunk as everyone. If he remembered, she did spend a few good minutes above the bar's toilet herself. And then poured a shot of vodka down Butters' shirt after he said he's not drinking any more. Thankfully, both had a good laugh.

Kyle was almost asleep when the sound of scratching on wood woke him up. He looked up and saw Sparky pawing the headboard. “Oh Kyle, he wants to go down,” Stan moaned, grabbing his dog and slinging him down onto Kyle's bed. He laid there for a while, Sparky exploring the mattress and his blanket, finally making it to his face and licking as if his life depended on it. Kyle couldn't take it after three licks, laying face down into the pillow. He hoped the dog would stop and sleep, instead, five minutes later he heard the most annoying whining. It was like a siren going off next to his head. He grabbed Sparky and put him back onto Stan's bed.

Ten minutes passed. Something was pawing on the headboard again. Sparky went down, tried to lick Kyle's face, whined, and went up. 

And again.

And again. 

“Holy shit, Stan, do you not feed your dog.”

“W-Why.”

“Because he's trying to eat my fucking face.”

“Oh come here, baby. Come here,” he coddled the dog and picked it back up, paying no more attention to Kyle's complaints. “He's mean, no? Kyle's a mean, mean man. He doesn't mean it tho.”

Kyle loved the dog. But if he heard him paw at the headboard one more time, he'd fling him into space. 

  
“Oh lord have mercy,” Stan whimpered when Kyle's phone rang. It was only eight am and he just remembered he was working that morning. Kyle would've kept on sleeping if it weren't for Stan's constant cursing. He didn't realize he was A, working, B, working in the sun, C, not immune to having a hangover. “Dude, you alive?”

“Barely,” Kyle turned around on the bed, bringing the covers over his head. He'd bite of someone pulled it off of him. 

“Well, I guess we're surviving on espressos today. Come on, I'll make you some at the café.”


	4. Why You Shouldn't Let Kyle Choose Between Coffee Or Class

Stan locked the door behind him and took off to catch the bus. He knew the walk there took three minutes and he knew he had about 90 seconds before the last bus leaves. Christ, his knees hurt. His headphones were falling out of his ears but that didn’t matter, as he saw the bus approaching.

Maybe if he didn't spend his whole morning turning off alarms with his dog on his chest.

When he looked closer, he could see another guy running for the bus too. Stan wanted to stop and laugh when he realized it was Kyle, as late as he was. With the last bits of his breath leaving his lungs, he jumped into the bus before the door closed and searched for his friend. Kyle was in the back, standing between the holding bar and three people that were smushed onto him. 

Stan somehow managed to wiggle his way to Kyle, setting his bag between his legs. “You didn't have much time today, huh?”

“Why do you think so?” 

“Your hair.”

“I haven't brushed my hair in like a week. Looks much better this way anyway. I couldn't find the right pair of socks though.”

“They're mismatched.”

“I mean I already look like a clown wearing different colors and prints. I can't afford to look like a clown squared if I wear different bands.” Kyle then took the courtesy of pulling up his jeans a little so Stan could back in the glory of his socks. He did it every day so Stan could say something nice about them. He had ones with Van Gogh's Sunflowers and ones with Andy Warhol and Salvador Dali and ones with bands and also some with their favorite childhood cartoons. Stan knew Kyle was fully capable of being late for school because he could only find another ‘Queen’ sock to his ‘Rolling Stones’ one and that's not the way he rolls. The was a questionable amount of pride he took in having collector boxes of socks.

Kyle saw Stan hold in his breath so he wouldn't deck the person standing behind him. He took enough elbows to the ribs and people stepping on his shoes. His _shoes_. His _damn shoes_. The kid behind him couldn't stand still, bumping and hitting everyone around him. Kyle took some bumps too. But Stan was already grumpy enough in the morning as is, let alone after missing breakfast and almost the bus. This kid was just the cherry on top.

The bus hasn't moved for a suspicious amount of time, Stan looking up from his notes to check the time. Oh great, they had 25 minutes to get to class. Considering how long they've been stuck in traffic for, they'll arrive in 20 minutes, and then it's just God's will if they'll make it to class. The school is 3-6 minutes away. They never knew, as the traffic lights near the school never worked and absolutely no driver was willing to stop for the kids to cross the road. Also, some people just move so slowly on the narrow sidewalk, there's no way of passing them. 

15 minutes.

10 minutes.

6 minutes.

They had 6 minutes left when they were approaching the last stop before their designated one. There was only a slight chance of them arriving on time but at most, they'd be 1-2 minutes late. Stan looked at Kyle and back at the bus' doors, Kyle already on his way.

Kyle was already stirring milk into his coffee when Stan came out of their favorite bistro, carrying a cup and a little plate. The streets were empty, all students already in class, and all workers not in the town yet. He sat on the woven chair and looked around, taking in the specific feeling a cloudy morning in their city gave out. If he could, he'd just sit there forever. With an unlimited supply of coffee, of course. It was just the right time before the town got too hectic. 

The sky was pleasantly grey, he liked the moments before it started to rain. It was still warm enough to sit outside and enjoy taking in every detail of the city. 

Stan didn't want to admit how often they did this. Before, it used to just be ‘we're stuck in traffic and there's no point in coming to class for 20 minutes so let's get some coffee to go and wait somewhere’.

More often than not, it turned into ‘we _might_ be late for class but the two minutes aren't worth the minor discomfort of everyone looking at us because we're always late on Monday mornings because traffic is terrible so coffee it is’.

Both enjoyed the slightly cool air on their cheeks. Kyle was glad he had his windbreaker on, content with the '80s gym teacher look. He knew he shouldn't be missing biology, it is one of the main subjects he's supposed to focus on but he'd never give up coffees with Stan for the chance to learn that kids are hairy before they're born. 

They are.

Lanugo is a bitch. 

And Stan would never give up coffees with Kyle for the chance to learn about sexy primes. His mind knew it meant prime numbers that differ from each other by 6. They both also knew it sounded funny as hell. 

Plus, it gave Kyle the chance to doodle into Stan's notes, saying that he's drawing those numbers all hot to help him remember this lesson. Stan saw the dick drawn in his notes masked as an ‘8’ and it did take a lot of control to remind Kyle that 8 is not, in fact, a prime number without bursting out laughing in the middle of class.

They didn't speak any more about prime numbers.

Kyle was actually great with numbers. Not with the stuff he had to remember, like most formulas, but with the stuff he had to figure out. And sometimes he'd get so caught up in the theoretical nonsense, he'd forget 1x1 equals 1, not 2.

They had to have a lot of self-control, especially during math. They didn't know what it was but something about those numbers and f(x)'s and cubes and radians forbade them from thinking like human beings.

Sometimes Kyle would poke Stan's side, knowing he's ticklish to the hell and back just for him to almost fall off of his chair, he jumped so much. Or sometimes Stan would hear Kyle whisper to himself ‘I'm going to throw a calculator at his head if he dares to add one more mathematical proof’. They were at the point where definitions and proofs had no more words, just symbols Kyle didn't understand. Or Stan's favorite, ‘I'm going to fight him if I need to’.

Stan poured sugar into his drink, watching it sit on top of the foam. “What you've got there?”

“A croissant,” Kyle replied with a bad french accent, drinking half of his coffee in one sip. To be fair, there wasn't much coffee to drink anyway. He looked at his phone, seeing that their biology class started five minutes ago. 

“You can't just pronounce it like ‘quasont’ and expect to go to heaven.”

“What do you have?”

“A vanilla latte and a galette.”

“Oh man,” Kyle breathed in the wet air and looked back at his best friend. “Ain't this the life?”

“This the life.”


	5. Kyle Has the Advice, Stan Has the Wine

Kyle chopped the tomatoes and threw them into the salad. His phone has been beeping for a few minutes, a new message from Stan appearing every time. He couldn't help his curiosity, unlocking his phone with his knuckles. 

He was mixing the salad with one hand while scrolling through the messages, his heart dropping with each one. He knew Stan was having a hard time these days and it killed him a little on the inside that he couldn't do much about it. Life crisis wasn’t his expertise.

Relationships on the other hand. 

Kyle wasn't skilled in those either. But that didn't stop him from hanging over the window silt until three am on a school night, just because Stan needed to talk about the person he liked. And Kyle didn't know what advice to give but he assumed the four hours they called for were helpful. Sometimes, Stan just needed a little push (and sometimes an aggressive shove) to actually do what he wants to do, rather than keeping it on a theoretical level. 

The dark bags under their eyes and three hours of sleep were worth it.

They had this bad habit of texting each other ‘hey, you've got 20 minutes’ just for a little chat. And most of the time, they'd find themselves still talking three hours later, trying to figure out what type of dog breed they were. 

Or what type of coffee.

Stan was an espresso. Deep and rich, with a lot of thought to it. Not for everyone, only for people with taste.

Kyle was an Irish coffee. Maybe you'd keep your distance in the beginning but surprisingly, had an unexpected kick to him.

Kyle was so incredibly thankful for the fact that Stan lived a few minutes away from him. He held the packed salad under his arm, rushing over to Stan's house so it wouldn't get ruined. He barely threw on a hoodie, not realizing it's raining outside. 

Stan was a little surprised at how fast Kyle came by. “I don't think I've ever seen you with an umbrella.”

“And you never will,” Kyle handed him the box with his magical creation, shaking the water off of him like a wet dog. It didn't help but the primal part of his brain was satisfied. Then he actually took the wet hoodie off, throwing it over some cabinet. 

“Oh my, you've made salad!” Stan squealed, peeking into the bowl. “And there's olives!” It took Stan no time to pop one into his mouth. 

Kyle found his favorite spot on the couch, moving Stan's dog to the side. So small, yet taking up so much space. Stan handed him his bowl, setting his own on the table. Kyle may have made enough salad for four people but for the record, it was exactly the amount of salad they were able to eat without feeling like they’re going to die. Kyle just made some great salads. 

Stan's parents were gone, along with his sister and Kyle could see he's having his moments, sitting in the dark living room with his dog and music blasting out of the TV. But the moment he texted him that he wasn't feeling too well, Kyle was already on his way. “So what's the issue, young man?” Kyle wanted to wait for Stan to start talking. But sometimes, he wanted Kyle to ask first. 

“I-... I don't know, dude. A lot. I'm feeling lost.”

“Lost in what?”

“In my... whole life. Dude, I don't know. You know how we're ending high school this year, right?” Kyle just gave him a little nod. “I really don't know what to do next. What's my next step? I feel like there are so many paths to take, I'm fucking... paralyzed and doing nothing. Nothing.”

“You think you're doing nothing?”

“I am! There's so much stuff I want to do I just-”

“You think you're doing nothing? Says who?”

“I am. Compared to them.”

“You're not! Who are you comparing yourself to? Dude if you're meaning to tell me that preparing yourself for college math exams while balancing an active social life, going to art classes, and having over 90% on every report card for the past 4 years is nothing, I'm digging myself a hole.”

“Come on. You've got it figured out. I just... Who do I do it for? Why do I keep such a perfect track of everything? Dude, I spend so much time on math and economy classes, I sleep four hours a night. Four. In freshmen year, I complained when I slept six.”

“Been there, buddy.”

“It's just... Who do I do it for?”

“Well, you obviously don't do it for yourself.”

“Why not?”

“If you did it for yourself, you'd allow yourself to mess up. No?”

“...You know... this is some great salad.”

“Thank you. Don't avoid the question, buddy.”

Stan rolled on the couch, looking at the ceiling. Was Kyle right? He was right like 90% of the time. He could read him like an open book. “But who do I do it for? Why can't I do stuff for myself?”

“I don't know. Who do you do it for? Your mom? God Almighty? For all of us?”

“I don't know. I just... I want to do shit for myself. Draw. Write. Meditate more. Whatever, all of that. But I just can't seem to... to actually go and do it. Instead, I spend my time worrying about... school. And college. And my job.”

“I mean... do you remember when we gave speeches as an assignment? Do you remember my speech about unhealthy perfectionism?”

“Yeah.”

“You should, it was a great speech. And do you remember how I kept looking at you during that whole speech?”

“...Yeah.”

“Because you're the poster child for unhealthy perfectionism, Stan. When was the last time you messed something up, hm? When you came unprepared or with the thought that something might not go according to plan?”

Stan kept silent. He didn't know. Kyle knew he was the one to miss school whenever a test he wasn't prepared for came up. Or he left just before the period he didn't study for. Why? Somewhere in his mind, he knew why. Because he didn't like to screw up. Because he built this image of him, that he's always prepared and he always gets the A's and that he always knows the answer. There was something hauntingly terrifying about not doing things 110% for Stan. 

  
And he didn't want to ruin that image. For whatever reason. It was easier to run from mistakes than face them and accept them. He didn't like mistakes. “I don't like making mistakes.”

What’s a thing if it’s not perfectly done? Why do stuff when it’s going to be just… kinda good? There’s always someone to do it better, why get back into painting? He wasn’t content with starting something he knew wasn’t going to turn out well. Because he hated the period between starting and perfecting something. 

“Honey, one screwed up math test isn't a mistake. We all make mistakes. You go, you make a mistake, you learn next time. I know I'm quoting my stupid speech again but you should have it engraved in your eyelids. If you don't learn how to make mistakes, you'll take an even bigger fall when you make one. People make mistakes. You can’t realistically go through life without messing up. But you don't remember them, you forget about other people's screw-ups and you only remember the good stuff and then you compare yourself to them. Sure, when you see people bragging about their achievements, they don't mention their mistakes. Right?”

“Right. You're right, I know.” Kyle didn't want to admit but that was like music to his ears. 

“If you know, what's keeping you from writing? From painting?”

“That... That it won't be as I pictured or good enough.”

“Nothing is as we picture it! It'll only be as good as you make it. But you can't keep getting better if you never start, you dense walnut. Done is better than perfect, right? And good enough is good enough, no? Babe, you can't keep walking out of things because you're scared you'll mess up. For example, I burned my veggies today. Was I kinda angry, kinda sad? Sure. Will I know that I should keep them in the oven for a little bit shorter next time? Yes. Will I know not to start a whole documentary on cocaine production? Maybe. We aim for growth, not perfection. And you can't grow if you don't even try and mess up once in a while.”

“Any last words?”

“You can't be fueled by the fear of others judging you if you fail. That's not a sustainable source. You have to be fueled by wanting to go further and doing better next time, okay?”

“Damn, you've got a whole monologue going on.”

“Yeah, because it's my third time repeating all of this to you. Will you ever learn? Be a fuckup like the rest of us, prince charming. God damn.”

Stan couldn't help the smile creeping up on his face. It even stopped raining in the meanwhile but they barely noticed. He was just glad Kyle jogged over to give him his monthly slap across the face to stop pleasing everyone but himself. And he brought over some kickass salad. He couldn't be more grateful to have someone who's willing to repeat this speech over and over until he finally believes it. “Thanks for cheering me up.”

“That's what I'm here for.”

“This calls for some wine,” Stan announced with a cheeky smile, disappearing to the kitchen. Kyle heard the glasses dangerously clink against each other as Stan carried them to the coffee table, both in one hand and the bottle in the other. Kyle didn't like wine but whatever, it made him feel fancy.

“What's this?” He smelled the dark liquid in his glass, spinning it around. It smelled suspiciously sweet.

“Black currant wine. Cheers,” Stan toasted, waiting for Kyle to actually take a sip.

“Wow, it tastes like... juice.” It wasn’t as disgusting as he remembered wine being. Little did he know, that was a dangerous thing.

  
“I... I don't care. I don't fucking care, I'll fight her dad. In his own dojo. I'll be like, ’welcome to the dojo, bitch.’ And then pow.” Kyle blocked the view at the TV, karate-kicking the air, wrapped in a blanket. He didn't know what time it was, he only knew he texted his mom he's sleeping over. He also wasn't sure why he wanted to fight Bebe's dad in a dojo. 

Stan was laying on the couch, trying to catch his breath from laughing too much. The last bits of wine were divided into their glasses. Kyle didn't even realize he was drinking wine and then it hit his head all at once. He wasn't sure if he enjoyed his head feeling like it's kinda unscrewed but it was really fun. “Shit dude, why can't I look like that?” he pointed at the pop video playing in the background on the TV, imitating the first dance moves he saw. Stan couldn’t take his eyes off of Kyle’s terrible dance moves, it was like a beautiful car crash. It was all fun until he almost flew over the coffee table trying to imitate the singer’s smooth moves. He, however, did not have some smooth moves. “You know why it’s not working?”

“Why.”

“Because I’m not shirtless like him!” he tapped his forehead, trying to pull off the blanket but instead just wrapping it around his torso tighter. He forgot about his dance, staring at the music video’s plot.

“I mean I'd take any one of them, at this point,” he nodded at the pair dancing on a rooftop. Just now he realized how dry his lips were. He has been talking for at least two hours now. Nonstop. 

Stan wasn't exactly present, after three full glasses of wine. He kept dancing on his little spot on the couch, the sensual music video making him feel groovy. That and also the singer he's been crushing on since he was 12. He was in his own little bubble, dancing with his dog in his hands. Sometimes he’d come back to earth and listen to Kyle’s rant about why you should never ever do meth. There was a certain level of alcohol when Kyle would start spitting out random drug trivia.

“Oh shit, it's three am,” Kyle laughed, looking at the little clock Stan had in the hall. Then his eyes were occupied by something else. “Dude is... Is this your sister's old scooter?”

  
“I'm fu-u-cking living,” Kyle yelled silently to himself, shuffling to the front door with the scooter between his legs while Stan was trying to put his dog on the leash. “Oh no, oh no. I'm sobering up.”

“Here,” Stan handed him his glass, Kyle taking it down in two sips.

“Good shit,” he coughed a little, already zooming out of the house. Stan barely caught up. “I finally know how to ride a scooter! Mate, I never learned as a kid!” he gleamed, waiting for his best friend to catch up. And then he rode some more.

As dumb as it sounded, Stan fully believed Kyle never rode the scooter as a kid.

Stan couldn't really believe the sight of Kyle learning how to properly ride a scooter at 3 am. Or the fact that it wasn't too small for him. Or that it was rumbling throughout the whole neighbourhood. Jesus, it was so loud. 

“We are making so much noise,” he quietly warned Kyle, laughing at the thought of someone coming out and scolding them. 

But Kyle didn't take it too hard, lifting the scooter up by its body like a dumbbell. “This is so heavy,” he breathed after two reps, putting it down. “You know what I'm going to say if- Oh shoot, they're after us,” he put the scooter down and rode away from the random car that was passing them. 

“Wait! I don’t want to go to jail alone!” Stan had to run to catch up with Kyle who was waiting for him at the end of the block. “I’m honestly waiting for someone to walk out and start freaking chasing up down the street.”

“You know what I’m going to do if they do? Do-do-do? I’m going to nyoom away and dare them to catch me,” he told Stan, riding away even faster.

Stan had to really pick up his pace to catch up, giving his dog the almost-morning jog. Christ, was he power walking at three am? He was sure sweating as if that were the case. It was so humid outside, after the rain but also very warm. He was actually kinda sad they didn’t have two scooters. Stan hoped they would zoom like this on scooters until they were like eighty.


	6. How Banana Bread Became the Centre Of the Universe

“Dude, I would kill for something sweet right now.”

“I mean you could check the kitchen.”

“I tried. We don't have anything except power bars and fructose packs.”

“Sucks when your family is health-conscious.”

“No, Stan, it sucks when everyone in your family steals all the sweets for themselves and there's nothing left for little old me,” Stan turned around on the carpet and looked sadly at Kyle who was sitting up high on his bed. 

“I already ate all of the mint candy.”

“I thought you hated mint.”

“I do. It tasted like toothpaste. Disgusting. I need more.”

“I mean... Doesn't your sister have that cookbook? We can bake something.”

Stan gave Kyle a strange look before finally having two coherent thoughts even without having enough sugar to function properly. He disappeared for a moment, returning with a big book in his hands. “This? It’s like 15 years old. She’s had it since she was a kid but we never tried any one of these,” he held the Barbie cookbook up above his head.

“Yeah, sure. Might still be good.” Kyle has flipped through the book a few times, not sure when but he somehow remembered it was in Stan's house.

“I mean it tells you to get an adult to help you chop ingredients.”

“There are no adults.”

“ _We_ are the adults,” Kyle made a terrible conclusion, flipping through the pages. 

There had to be something that they were capable of baking. “I-I don't know man. What do you want?”

“I don’t think we’re ready for a whole ass birthday cake. What about... About... Banana bread?” Stan stopped at a page with two happy girls cutting up a loaf of banana bread. He forgot that ‘banana bread’ is a trigger term for Kyle, reminding him of that one time he tried to bake and ended up with a disgusting banana blob that imploded the moment he took it out of the oven. Kyle also hated bananas, he might as well eat lotion. 

“I mean sure. You can bake, right?”

“No, no I can't. You can though.”

“You've made banana bread before! And cookies! And those healthy pancakes!”

“Yeah but... But you can cook like really well.”

“I can cook but I can't bake.”

“It's the same!”

“It's not! I can make steak as juicy as-”

“Don't say it.”

“-as juicy as-”

“Don't.”

“As juicy as my ass! There. I had to say it.”

Stan found all the ingredients needed and took it as a sign. They were making banana bread. It seemed like a challenge, especially considering they're taking the recipe from a children's cookbook. Barbie was telling them ‘it's almost as sweet as you’ from the top corner and it somehow both, discredited the recipe and encouraged them.

“What do you want to listen to?” Stan gave Kyle the power of choice, scrolling through his phone to choose a soundtrack for their baking adventure.

“What are my choices?”

“Swedish cloud rap or Madonna.”

“Both are good.”

But their baking process came to a stop as soon as it began, with Kyle spilling milk all over his sweatpants. That only affirmed Stan in his decision not to give him a knife no matter how pissy he got. 

Stan searched through his closet, trying to find some sweatpants so Kyle wouldn’t have to walk around the house in only his boxers. But as it turned out, they were all in the laundry. “Dude I only found these sweatpant shorts,” he threw them at his friend. 

“Are... Are these your old soccer shorts?” Kyle had sudden flashbacks to Stan's middle school soccer career. Oh man, he was one of the playboys back then.

“I mean... I don’t know.”

“Dude they are, I remember when you busted your lip in these.”

“You busted my lip, kicking the ball right into my face” 

“I did. That was in _eighth grade_ ,” Kyle hissed, jumping from side to side to pull the shorts up. Stan barely held back his laughter when Kyle finally pulled them up. 

“I think I might be a little too grown for them.”

“You just... Fill them out. Very much. They don’t look too big on you.”

“I mean they’re not tight, I just don’t know how I feel about them ending right. Under. My ass.”

“Well, you’re thick. Big deal.” Kyle just hoped the rest of Stan’s household will be absent long enough, no one wants to go through seeing him in those shorts. 

“I'm going to convulse if I smell one more banana,” Kyle cried out, smashing the hell-fruit in a bowl. Stan took the courtesy of mixing the batter, arguably having bigger bicepses. He took the job from Kyle after the tenth ‘oh fuck me, Jerry, this is tough’. “Give me,” he smacked his lips at Stan, demanding some raw dough. 

“So you'd rather eat raw dough than a banana?”

“That yellow lotion berry is not touching my tongue.”

“You mean your... lingua?” Stan cheekily sneaked in, knowing Latin words ale like Kyle's biggest kink.

“I'm almost as proud as I was when you called a harvestman a harvestman and not a spider.” Of course, he still managed to talk about how they throw off their leg to confuse predators. And then Stan started quizzing him in arthropod taxonomic ranks which was, and still is, Kyle's own personal hell.

Kyle read out all of the ingredients again to make sure they got everything while throwing in a healthy amount of cranberries. He thought they might add a bit of juice to the banana bread. 

“Oh dude, I'm worried,” Kyle held the bowl above the baking dish while Stan scraped the dough down.

“It's really thick.”

“Almost as thick as-”

“I will attack you with a spoon,” Stan threatened his friend, with a look that said he meant it. 

Both took their coffees and headed outside, sitting on the porch that leads into Stan’s small backyard. It was quite peaceful when his family was gone. “And so she asked me to read her story, right?” Kyle continued on with his monologue. “And it was omegaverse so that should’ve been the first red flag.”

He stopped at Stan’s questioning state. “Omegaverse?” And Kyle’s eyes lit up in twisted joy. 

“You don’t know?”

“I’m not sure if I want to know.”

“Oh no, I’ve had to learn about it, you’re getting away unharmed.”

...

“They _mate_?”

“Yeah.”

“And they get _pregnant_?”

“Mhm.”

“W... Why? Dude, how? Where does it...”

“Don’t ask me! I never got to the pregnancy part! Her story was only a few chapters long, I wanted to be a good friend and said okay and now I’m... now I can’t hear the word heat without having a violent physical reaction.”

“Christ, that’s... What would you be?” 

Kyle let out a loud breath, laying down on the concrete porch, only supporting himself on his elbows. He’d rather someone fling him into the sun than answer. “I’d seriously off myself if I were an omega. No bitch is getting me pregnant, I tell you that.”

“You’ve always had problems with authority,” Stan laughed. 

“No shit, I couldn’t even do homework with my dad because he kept telling me what to do.” It was funny watching Kyle try to explain how much he hated someone being superior to him or telling him what to do because he couldn’t put it into words. It was just so funny because he despised it so much. “I just couldn’t stand being an omega. Ugh. Why about you?”

“I don’t know, dude. I think I’m too rowdy to be an omega and alfas are a bit icky. I think... I’d be a good beta. As long as my family doesn’t... Doesn’t sell me to an alpha to repay their debt,” Stan barely got out of himself, letting out the ugliest laugh and laying on the grass. 

“Shit, me too.” Kyle reached around and grabbed a book off the table. “You’re still doing sudokus?”

“Yeah, great for relaxing. You should try them sometimes.”

“They’re all like... numbers. Disgusting, dude.” Kyle flipped through the pages and saw they’re almost all filled out. He felt a migraine creeping up on him just looking at the squares and numbers. “You’re such a grandpa,” he teased his friend, throwing the book into his lap.

“You literally do crossword puzzles daily, you sucky omega.” He could barely keep in his giggles after he saw the stare that Kyle was giving him. It seems like he found a new thing he could tease him about. 

“Yeah, and now I can say ‘Japanese pearl diver’ and ‘Spanish governess’ in one word.”

“How’s that improved your life, Mr. Big brain.”

“It’s been pretty useless, I tell you that. Makes me feel kinda superior, though. Not a lot, just a little. Maybe it’ll be useful to know the German word for eagle, maybe not. We’ll see.”

  
“I can’t believe it worked,” Stan stood above their banana bread, staring down at their creation. Kyle was sitting by the counter, shielding himself from disappointment with Stan’s dog in his arms. Also for protection, after he managed to touch the hot iron twice while taking it out of the oven. The bread rose up so beautifully and the top cracked open, making it look all homemade and sexy. It was one sexy banana bread. And it smelled so tasty too.

“Dude, come look,” Stan dragged his friend up, shaking the bread out of the form. There was no time to wait, they had to taste it. It didn’t matter that it was insanely hot and they’d burn themselves. 

Both friends looked down at the specimen, not believing that the Barbie cookbook produced something like this. Kyle took the courtesy of cutting in and taking the first bite. So far, the cross-section looked good.

Stan started to get worried when Kyle took a bite and laid his head on the counter after chewing. “You good?” he whispered to his friend through the music they blasted across the whole house. His friend rose up, with a beautiful mix of confusion in his eyes. “Dude are... Are you crying?”

“No, but... It’s so fucking delicious,” he sang, throwing himself around Stan’s shoulders. “We made it! We baked our own banana bread! From a Barbie cookbook!” 

Stan didn’t hesitate to hug him back, not usual for Kyle to get this affectionate. But then he took a bite and understood each and every one of Kyle’s feelings regarding the bread. He might cry too.

Of course, they didn’t stop themselves from eating the whole loaf before it even got the chance to cool down. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i don't have anything against omegaverse stories! i'm sure they're wonderful and some are super good, i just had to go through the trauma of explaining to my bf what it meant and... and you read how it went :-)


	7. Kyle Has Never Learnt How To Light a Cigarette

“I'm so excited Butters's coming back from his trip.”

“Me too, we haven't seen him in like what. Three months? Three and a half?” Stan tried to recollect when Butters left for an exchange program. Thankfully, they had the whole house to themselves and were planning to go out for the night. 

“We've got everything ready?” Kyle looked over the living room table, checking to see if everything's there, from liquor to wasabi nuts. He also made a mental note to not give those to Stan, after the last time they celebrated, he ate those by a handful and then had to lay on the floor to focus on staying together. Yeah, maybe don't mix a pack of wasabi nuts with rum and Coke.

The last time, they took Kyle to his first shisha bar. And it was a ride for the poor boy. They ordered melon and mint flavored water pipe which came with a little LED light under it, making the water inside shine green. It felt like something from the future. Kyle was almost ashamed of how nervous he was to take the first hit. He was even more nervous after both, Stan and Butters were telling him to take in more. More? More?! 

He watched them puff out pretty clouds and make it go through their noses and after a while, he got the hang of it. And then he took in more. A little too much, because he started feeling the effects of gravity suspiciously strongly. His body was screwed tightly to the beanbag he was sitting in but his head was somewhere in the clouds. 

Also, the lemonades they served were amazing. Hibiscus lemonade tasted like Gummiberry juice, sour like the hell itself but so so good. And the peach one with pieces of peaches, oh sweet lord, that was heaven. Sure, his hoodie smelled like tobacco, mint, and watermelon for the next two days but it was well worth it.

“Ready,” Stan set the shot glasses down, knowing that for some reason, there aren't any at Kyle's place. Shortly after they heard the doorbell ring, both running to the front door and almost taking Butters down with their bear hugs. 

  
It's been two hours since Butters arrived, all of them ordered some food. Butters wasted no time telling them all the best (and spiciest) moments of his stay abroad. Stan didn't believe anything would make this evening better than an aloha bowl and old throwback songs they could sing their hearts out to. But then Kyle suggested pregaming before they go out, opening the bottle of herbal liquor that crowned the table.

Butters suggested they go and play a drinking game he learned on his trip. And they were in, trying to get the rules down while they were sober. Basically, each person says a number starting from 1 and going on but instead of saying 3, 6, 9, or any number that ends with said numbers, you just clap. For 33 you double clap. If you mess up, you take a shot.

Too bad they never got to 33.

Or 19, while they were at it. 

They were so incredibly bad at it, it took them 20 minutes to each be 3 shots deep. 3 shots that were divided into three parts so they wouldn't get wasted before going out.

And then they decided not to go out, after all. They were having too much fun inside and Stan wasn’t too into going out into the cold night. “I can wear sweatpants!” Kyle yelled, running into his room to free himself from his skinny jeans and that damned belt he never went out without. It was also quite a shame, just because he looked so good. But the 30 minutes they spent in front of the ceiling to floor mirror trying to take their best photo were well worth it, in immortalizing how good he looked. 

He spent 20 minutes on his hair for nothing. 

When he shuffled out of his room, he was greeted by Stan laying on the cold floor, singing out the words to an old song they used to play at every school ball and Butters documenting the whole scene. “Boys!” Kyle yelled, pointing at the bottle. “We drink!”

  
“Oh, shit dude, gummy rings! You... You brought gummy rings!” Butters squealed, taking one green gummy ring from Stan. They were disgusting, processed, impossible to chew through, insanely sour but it was still their favorite childhood snack. Butters pushed one into each cheek while Stan was having his own private disco with Kyle as both, the DJ and the loudest singer in the room. He danced around the living room with the portable speaker in his hands, cowboy hat on his head. “West Virginia, take me home,” Kyle awfully sang, holding the speaker above his head.

“Where... Hey, Kyle. Where did the hat come from?”

“My-My dad, I think, brought it back from some stupid trip to... Florida,” Kyle laughed, tipping his head to everyone around. “M'Dudes, m'dudes, it's time for another round.”

“I'm going! To pee!” Stan declared before dancing out of the room. It was so strange and so funny. There was no reason they should be announcing this, no reason to do so. But still, every time one of them left for the bathroom, he had to make it know. They just... They just had to make it known.

It didn't take Butters long to start teaching Stan some funky foreign words he learned, up until they heard the beats of a familiar song, whatever came up in Kyle's party playlist. It didn't take Kyle and Stan long to bust out the moves, keeping Butters on the couch. He was very jetlagged, after all, barely staying up. “Forget 'bout your boyfriend! And meet me at the hotel!” All three felt the song in their hearts, Kyle tripping over his feet and landing in Butters's lap who didn't seem to mind. Kyle didn't either, claiming the place as his new throne and continuing on with their tercet. 

Butters wrapped his arms around his waist, almost falling asleep on his shoulder. He was always so cuddly when he was drunk, hugging whatever and whoever. If he got the chance to cuddle, he'd take it. And you wouldn't get out of his grip. 

“Dude, the bottle's almost empty,” Stan whined, spinning the bottle in his hand. “I... I could go for a smoke.”

“You smoke?”

“Not really but... I really want a cigarette right now.” Well, that was a drunk Stan to you. That and also ‘dude, I could make out with someone so hard right now’. 

“I mean I don't have any. Do you?” Kyle turned to his almost sleeping friend, Butters shaking his head slightly as he laid on the couch. Kyle suggested there's a gas station nearby, they could stop there and get some cigarettes since all stores were closed. Or at least everything near was closed. What Kyle had, though, was a shitty lighter that took two hands to light up. 

Kyle was in the process of distributing sweatshirts to everyone present, so they wouldn't freeze up in the cold night. It was barely one a.m. and Stan suggested calling Clyde who was out that night. If he has the car with him, he might be able to take them. 

It was slightly awkward but Kyle and Butters were too tipsy to notice, Stan keeping small talk with Clyde while he drove them to their destination. He left with Stan, leaving both their kids in the car. 

“Come on, I'll go to the backyard. Y'all don't have to come,” Stan tried to convince his friends but they were persistent, saying they just won't let him go smoke outside alone. What if someone kidnaps him? No, no, they're going with him. And they all went to the cold porch and stared into the dark backyard that was only illuminated by sun-powered lamps. 

It was too windy for Kyle to actually light Stan the cigarette, both stepping into the kitchen a bit to avoid the winds. Butters couldn’t help taking a video, Kyle yelling that he can’t do it. “What’s wrong?”

“I can’t do it! I can’t- Look! Look!” Kyle whiner, pressing the lighter but no fire appeared. “I can’t even light a! Shitting cigarette!” Stan stood by, holding the smoke between his lips and holding back his laughs. “I can’t do it with my FUCKING SPAGHETTI ARMS!” Kyle yelled, pressing the lighter over and over again.

After minutes of struggle, the cigarette was lit. Stan sat on a lawn chair, Kyle standing back, leaning against a wall and Butters sitting on the porch. “Want some?” Stan handed the lit smoke to Kyle who has never properly smoked one. He took it, breathing in and trying to keep himself from coughing. No questions asked, he passed it to Butters.

Stan felt like the night was complete, with having a little smoke after drinking. It was a dumb habit he picked up at parties.

He dropped it on the ground, accidentally. So they lit another one, except now they burned off a good half of it even before taking a hit. So they lit up a third one, finally passing that one around properly.

They looked like a bunch of sixth-graders who stole a cigarette and were acting tough behind the school. 

But they were having fun.

And then they took a walk around the whole block, just because they liked to take walks around the whole block when they were drunk. 

They managed to shuffle in, all looking for a blanket. Instead of a blanket, they found a second bottle of the same liquor they were drinking, only coconut flavored. This time music wasn’t in place, rather, they sat in a neat little circle with pillows and blankets and talked. And with each round the bottle made, they made less and less sense.

Stan tried to do an unofficial driver’s license test because he was preparing for his exams these days. He scored better than sober.

Butters wondered what would happen if you sprayed your hair with hairspray if you already had hairspray in your hair. He thought it would be like hairspray squared. It didn’t occur to him it’d be just crusty.

Kyle had a long monologue about what would happen if the earth suddenly stopped and that monologue somehow ended with him talking about dicks. 

They lost track of time but by the time they wanted to go to sleep, Stan passed out from exhaustion on the carpet and Butters and Kyle were walking about a math club. Like a dance club, only for math geeks. And they’d give you like... like a stamp on your hand and it would be a formula. That was the funniest thing they came to Kyle’s mind. 

Until he grabbed a black marker and with Butters went to town on Stan’s arms and hands. Flowers and kisses and penises. Also incorrect math formulas and their famous 2+2=5.

Then they both ended up wiping their tears away from laughing too much. And that still didn’t wake Stan up.

They had to shake him awake and his first words were “Holy fucking shit we are dumb.” When no one understood what he was talking about, he stood up and pulled the drapes away. Apparently, it was already six a.m. and the sun was coming up. 

  
And that’s how their drunken night out that wasn’t a night out ended. And still, when Stan told his mom they stayed up until six am, her question was if they did math problems that late.

And she was serious.


	8. How Stan Finally Made an Impulsive Decision and Had a Smoothie Bowl

Kyle rushed to put on his clothes, reading the text that Stan's already waiting outside. The shirt stuck to all of the wrong places since he was still a little wet from the shower, his hair was a mess and his gym bag was a mess. He wondered how he even managed to stuff all of his belongings into it in the first place.   
  
He didn't want to keep Stan waiting, spraying his perfume wherever, knowing it'll smell all over the changing room. But breakfast with Stan was more important. He cocooned into his hoodie that was, for reasons to Stan unknown, two sizes too big and flew out of the changing rooms.  
  
He pressed his card against the reader, knowing the turnstile won't let him pass. It never did and he couldn't get his gym card to work, always having to go to the reception and bothering the girl that works there. It got awkward a little too quickly, always having to go there when he arrives and leaves, three times a week.   
  
He already saw Stan standing by the stairway outside, looking the other way. He, like most people, ditched the hoodie on this fine spring day but they'd have to tear away hoodies away from Kyle's cold, stiff hands. “Morning, sunshine.”  
  
“Well isn't it a surprise to see you awake before lunch,” Stan turned around with a gleaming smile, already leading the way to their favorite breakfast place. “How was the gym today?”  
  
“I mean... I locked myself on the balcony,” Kyle whispered, hoping he won't have to explain the embarrassing memory.  
  
“What?” Of course, he has to explain the embarrassing memory.  
  
“Well, there's a boxing bag on the balcony. And it's such a nice morning I thought I'd try it out.” Stan already knew where the story will go. “And the last time I went with Token, he put a little dumbbell under the door and I didn't realize why until I couldn't open the damned door today. I didn't realize! It's a balcony! So the door probably won’t be operable both ways,” Kyle cried out, running his hands over his face. “But there was this bald dude doing yoga and he saw me struggle and stress so he opened them for me.”  
  
Kyle was too deep in bad memories to actually enjoy the cool morning, the town being almost empty on this weekend morning. The air was still fresh and damp from the morning haze and the sun wasn't in its full force just yet. Thankfully, the gym was only a few minutes away from their destination.  


“I mean you just don't know how pumped I get when I listen to The Sex Pistols when I'm on the treadmill. It's like that last burst of energy I need.”  
  
“You just need that base, huh?”  
  
“Yeah, I do. You think I'd last three minutes on that hell machine if I listened to indie pop?”  
  
“Wild, coming from someone who sends me seven songs every week, six of them indie pop.”  
  
“Listen, where would we be if I wasn't here, stuffing my music taste down your throat every chance I get?”  
  
Stan pulled his friend's arm, navigating him into the alleyway where the hidden gem that was the café was located. Stan was sure if he didn't lead the way, Kyle would get lost. On the main street. It's happened before. They decided to sit outside, making the most of the weather.   
  
“But the thing is, I can't lift shit with my arms but I can move twice my body weight with my thighs and I don't know what that says about the frequency of me opening my legs but I'm not saying anything,” he laughed, pouring milk into his coffee. He was speaking so fast and so much, Stan wasn't sure whether he was glad he was this awake.  
  
Stan stirred the honey in his tea, both waiting for their breakfast to arrive. “Hey, by the way, why didn't you pick up the phone when I called you yesterday?’  
  
“I was taking a nap.”  
  
“I called at nine p.m.”  
  
“T'was a long nap,” Kyle defended himself, making some space on their table for his veggie toast and Stan's smoothie bowl.   
  
Kyle wanted to make a snarky comment about it but he knew better than to insult the food of someone who knows you eat like absolute trash. Maybe he wanted to say that berries and milk shouldn't go together, let alone the much-hated banana but Stan would be quick to remind him of his eating habits. Or lack thereof.   
  
“You think I can eat those?” Stan curiously poked at the flowers that crowned his purple bowl. Kyle didn't want to admit his often he heard that question. 

He didn't want to remind Stan that the last time he asked was when Kyle ordered a pink lemonade and if came with a whole rose inside.

He also didn't want to remind him how he took it out, bit off a few petals because he thought he’d just eat a rose and it'd taste like raspberries and then secretly spat them into a napkin because they were so disgustingly bitter.

“Yeah, my guess is don't eat those.”

He just didn't know how Stan did it. Actually wake up and make yourself some pancakes for breakfast? A smoothie? Sometimes when he slept over they'd make a nice hashbrown and then sit on the patio and soak up the sun like a pair of lizards on a rock with their morning coffees.   
  
And sometimes when he came over, Stan would make them a fruit salad. Kyle didn't know a lot but he knew that was the definition of love.   
  
Or when Stan would come over, Kyle'd make them a nice dhal to warm them up or make Stan feel like he's burning up, because, at this point, Kyle has no concept of what ‘one teaspoon’ means. One teaspoon, one shmeashmoon. Who even does exact measurements these days. Or ‘add one clove of garlic’. One clove? Insane. An outrage.   
  
They unwrapped the twine knot from the napkins and cutlery. “Christ, when did you go to sleep then?” Stan rolled his eyes. He knew Kyle wasn't the one to move to bed at reasonable times. Or get out of it.   
  
He never understood it, having his regime. He had his schedule and he liked sticking to it, checking things off of his mental to-do list.  
  
Kyle stayed quiet.   
  
“Kyle.”  
  
“3:30.”  
  
“You mean to tell me you slept for four and a half hours and then went to the gym.”  
  
“Mmmyes.”  
  
“Did you at least eat anything before working out?”  
  
“Mmmno.”  
  
“Jesus Christ, Kyle, you can't do it like this.”  
  
“Come on, I wasn't hungry! I'm eating now, right?”   
  
“You are such a car crash, you're lucky I love you. What do you even do until three in the morning?”  
  
Kyle gave his friend a sweet little smile, reciprocating his feelings. “So what did you do this weekend?”  
  
“Well, I cleaned the whole house. Did some math for my exams, had my weekly scheduled mental breakdown- I mean you were there on the phone with me. And then did a to-do list for school. I still have to do the bio homework. It’s so long, did you see the genetics exercises?  
  
“Yeah, I already did it on Friday.”  
  
“You did your _homework_ on _Friday_?’  
  
“Yeah, I wanted to have a free weekend.”  
  
“You disgust me, oh my God, homework on Friday, you jenky nerd. What did you do during the weekend?”  
  
“I cut my hair. I didn’t like my bangs so I redid them,” Kyle whined, feathering his hair so it'd fall nicely on his forehead. He didn't like how his hairdresser cut them, they looked too blocky for him. He wanted that effortless ethereal look. Not that he otherwise thought he didn't look ethereal. Kyle didn't know how to work the scissors, he couldn't even cut a straight line into the paper but he'd be damned if he didn't have soft waves falling right above his eyes.  
  
“You what?”  
  
“I mean you don’t stay up 'til sunrise listening to Elton John without doing something to your hair, do you?” Stan agreed, taking his fork and stealing a cucumber slice off of Kyle's plate. His friend did the same, swiping a strawberry out of Stan's bowl.   
  
Stan was a little worried about what Kyle might do next. First, it's cut a slit into your eyebrow. Next, he's cutting his hair. If he sees him buying bleach and hair dye, he might need to organize an intervention.   
  
But at this point, he was too used to receiving texts at two a.m. saying he painted all over his jeans and then cut them up so the length would be better. And then he cut holes into them, like a heart on his knee. And then he'd paint some more. Or just dye them a completely different color, he's had that experience too.   
  
Kyle had plans to take his friend, some wine, a blanket, and some paints down to the river and sit in the grass and paint. Except Stan was deathly afraid of painting, never letting go of his trusty pencils. He'd come up with amazing portraits or still life drawings. Kyle hated pencil work and shading and hyperrealism when he used to go to art school. That's why he stuck to painting and abstract art. It wasn't always abstract, but people would always label it as such and he felt too awkward saying it's actually a bunch of crystals or the inside of a computer with some... tubes... or some shit. He didn't know, he just liked the picture.  
  
He didn't learn computers or whatever at school.  
  
Well, he did. They both did. But Stan had to learn programming on paper instead of the computers for whatever reason, having to memorize the commands. Kyle learned programming on some stupid little robots and the one that was assigned to his place never worked. It was either the motor, the speaker, the display. And he'd forever be salty that when they had a test, everyone had a functioning robot that walked, talked, beeped, sang, did all that shit and he got a power source, a wheel, and a button. Because apparently, that's all he needed. And so while everyone was letting their robots loose in the lab, he sat on the stupid dangly chair with one wheel and a button to press so it'd start spinning.   
  
Marvelous.  
  
And it was also another lesson he spent away from Stan. They couldn't do their usual mischief and it seriously hurt his heart. Both their hearts.  
  
“Well, you sure like to start running at sunrise when you hear strange noises outside,” Stan teased him about the last time they were coming home from the town. Well, to Stan's house anyway. And as soon as Kyle heard those little squeaks, he took Stan's keys and jogged to his house.   
  
“Because those were bats! And I'm not up for getting rabies anytime soon!”  
  
“They... spread rabies?”  
  
“When they bite you, yeah.”  
  
“T-... They bite?!”  
  
“Don't tell me you didn't know.”  
  
“I just thought you were afraid of them because they looked ugly and flew.”  
  
“You amaze me sometimes. Yeah, they looked like deformed mice but they also suck blood sometimes and spread rabies. And! And, my dude, the lines in their wings are their arms and fingers. Look,” he quickly searched up a photo on his phone, showing it to his best friend. It was kinda funny to see him turn away in disgust, realizing bats just had really fucked up hands.  
  
“Oh man, anyway. I'm really aching to get another tattoo,” Stan sighed, sipping on the last bits of his tea. When he got his first one, it was such a great trip to the city four hours away just so he could get it done by a girl whose work he loved so much. They went with Butters and it was almost embarrassing to admit how much time and money they spent in cafés and bistros. 

They slept in the middle of the city because Butters had some good contacts, they had the best waffles in a place that had ‘Laboratory’ in the name, they walked through the alleyways of the town at night, received a rose from some drunk college guy who got rejected by his girlfriend. They wanted to go up to the old ruins and see the whole city, not knowing how to get there. But that didn’t stop them, they ran over four-lane roads and jumped over fences, somehow ending up on a bus parking lot under some bridge. They were almost up there but right before the final set of stairs, they passed a pub and some guy pissing by the stairs. Sure, he yelled ‘it’s okay guys, I’m just taking a piss’ but the moment he turned around and opened his mouth, Kyle was already running away with the speed of an Olympic runner. But it was so good, waking up at three to get to the train station, sleep the whole ride, get lunch, see the town. If they could, they'd go back immediately.   
  
“Oh, man. I want to get one too,” Kyle sighed. He knew it wouldn't have as much meaning as Stan's. He just liked cool pictures. He didn’t have any yet but he was absolutely okay with getting a Pokèmon tattooed on just because he thought it was neat. Stan put so much thought into picking out the motive and the artist, going through so many options and ideas. And he chose so well, choosing something that represented his growth for the past years, him making peace with his inner world. It took him a good hour to explain the whole story behind it to someone. Maybe even more.   
  
And Kyle saw the whole journey, he saw Stan's growth and his struggles, he was there to listen to him when he needed it or when he needed advice. They had this terrible habit of sitting at cafés for hours, talking about life. And sometimes, Stan would let some tears flow. It happened enough times for it to become a stupid joke between them, making a mental list of places where Stan has cried.   
  
But Stan knew he could turn to Kyle with whatever, whenever. Even the dumbest problems, the smallest ones, the biggest ones. He was there every step along the way. He was there to listen to him until the sun came up, he was there to deal with his existential crisis. Or him worrying about a math test. Or where he'll be in 30 years.   
  
They were a duo.  
  
Such a perfect duo.   
  
“Hey,...” Stan mumbled, lost in his thoughts. “Two, two.”  
  
“Five. What about it?”  
  
“I mean... We're ending high school, right? And... I feel like these were... some eventful four years. We've grown so much. We learned so much. We've gone through so much shit and we became... who we are today,” Stan stopped, briefly remembering all the hardships and troubles they went through together. “I can't believe it's about to end but... We've been using that phrase for four fucking years every day.”  
  
“Oh my... Are you suggesting?”  
  
“I mean would you want to?”  
  
“I... I don-... Yes. Yes, I would,” Kyle smiled, not hesitating for one more second. He'd love to.   
  
“Really?”  
  
“Sure. If there's time for reckless decisions, it's now.” Stan didn't waste one more second. A few minutes later, they already had a booking with the artist.   
  
Two plus two equals five.   
  
And Kyle plus Stan equals a lot of trouble and a lot of love. 


	9. How an Incorrect Equation Became So Much More

Kyle threw on his favorite tartan shirt over whatever t-shirt he could find in the dark. He knew it was going to be a long day so he liked to be layered like an onion. At this point, he was so tired that only his hoodies and shirts were keeping him from falling apart. His backpack was half empty but it if were full, he could still use the bags under his eyes. Sleeping 90 minutes a night isn't for him.

He tried to leave the house as quietly as possible, considering it was 3 a.m. But that didn't stop him from banging his toothbrush against the mirror, dropping his backpack, or accidentally throwing his keys across the whole room, only for them to land on tiles. 

He couldn't believe how much he was cursing Stan for making them take the 4 a.m. train so they could be in the city by 9, their tattoo appointment at one. Oh man, the town is so creepy at 3 a.m. He couldn't help turning around at every sound he heard. 

He knew he looked like absolute hell. And Kyle was glad to learn that Stan looked like absolute hell too. He was already waiting for the taxi they ordered the night before. Stan didn't trust the buses to come and go on time and he didn't what the ‘running for our train because it leaves in two minutes’ kind of adrenaline. 

The first thing they did after arriving at the train station, went straight to the bistro for coffee and some breakfast. They still had a good half an hour before their train leaves. The train station had such an eerie atmosphere this early in the morning. Very few people, a good portion of them drunk, foreigners, or both. Kyle promptly kicked back an espresso, hoping it'll help him stay awake. He knew he'd be asleep the moment he finds his seat on the strain but it's the thought that counts. Stan fiddled with a caramel latte and a pain au chocolat. He'd rather chose death than not buying a fresh, warm pastry. 

Kyle was quick to race to the window seat. He knew it meant giving it up on their way back but didn't care all that much. The train was empty so he had the time to put himself together. Somehow, Stan had the time and energy to do his hair and looked freshly awake. It was some kind of magic almost like he actually... slept? Slept?!

“Look,” Kyle whispered, pulling his jeans up to show Stan his socks. Well, he didn't need to pull them up since he always wore his jeans cuffed or straight up cut off. His jacket was neatly stacked on the little table in front of his seat so he could lay down and sleep. Stan had taken out some chocolate snacks and a sudoku book.

Stan looked down to see Van Gogh's ‘Sunflowers’. Jesus, Kyle and his socks. With a little smile, he lifted his leg, showing Kyle the ‘Starry Night” socks Kyle gave him for his birthday. It didn't seem like much but it was Stan's favorite painting in the whole world. He saw Kyle's excited face and it made the morning just a little better. “If this ain't couple goals, dude,” Kyle laughed, stealing a little bite from Stan's chocolate sticks. 

It wouldn't be Kyle if he weren't stealing Stan's food.

The first three stops were going okay, they were both awake and talking and laughing. They could be out for hours and hours and they'd still find something to talk about. It was just unusually easy to move from talking about the meaning of life to talking about how they got lost on a school trip because Stan went looking for a shirt. ‘Stay within the area, kids’ they said but Stan already had a plan for how they’re going to make it to the shop and back in 30 minutes. It took 2 hours. And how they had to run across a whole city, crossing through gated areas at a park and jolting through a crowded mall just so the bus wouldn't leave without them. 

Or how they almost got blown away at a sacred praying site because the weather was so terrible. Kyle's umbrella didn't make it and broke. Craig's umbrella got blown away to the monuments and the poor kid had to jump fences while their tour guide wasn't looking to go get it.

And then Kyle got sick because he got to their bus soaking wet, dried up, and then got soaking wet one more time. But it was worth it because they had hot chocolate at the cutest café they'd seen. 

There were so many trips to talk about. Like the one where there was this giant spider at their dorm. They all made fun of Kyle for overreacting but that damned thing was as big as his palm. And it was thick too. 

They should've taken him seriously when he saw it in the hallway while going to his room and spent the next hour standing back on Stan's bed, afraid to go back. But they checked his room and nothing was there, just a little spider in the uppermost corner.

So with a faint memory of the spider monstrosity and a fairly better mood, Kyle locked himself in the bathroom to finally take a long, hot shower after the whole day. He pulled away the shower curtains to reach for a shampoo bottle he forgot on the sink, only to meet his eyes with the spiders. He was there, in all his glory, staring at him from beside the toilet. 

Kyle was so shocked, he barely managed to keep standing up, staring at that awful thing for good two minutes before reaching over for the lock on the door. He almost slipped in the shower, suddenly understanding why people in horror movies fiddle with the doorknobs so much. He grabbed the closest towel, running out of the bathroom as if he'd witnessed death itself. 

It was quite a sight to see him in the room, dripping wet and yelling at his roommates to go deal with the abomination. 

  
It didn't take long for Kyle to shift his sleeping position from laying on a little table to laying in Stan's lap. It's been tried, it works. He always slept in his lap during long rides. It doesn’t matter if it’s a two-hour long car ride or a 36-hour long bus trip. He demanded to sleep on Stan’s lap.

He woke up periodically and saw that Stan was asleep too. They managed to catch up with the night they lost making it to the train station, snoozing off for four proper hours. They barely woke up before it was their time to get off the train.

“We still have so much time,” Stan stopped in the middle of a busy side street, checking the bus schedule on his phone. Stan barely knew which bus to take and which stop to get off on. And that was the easy part, they still had to find the girl’s tattoo salon. They managed to get down from the train station into the city, going down the one and only road they knew. The five stops they passed were sounding way too familiar. They should, it was the only five stops they ever passed while taking the tram in the city. They practically knew three streets in total and Kyle somehow still managed to take the wrong turn. Stan didn't believe he had to be there to direct him to the main street.

“Dude, I love breakfast,” Stan gleamed, quickly taking pictures of his coffee and pancakes. Kyle was already halfway through cutting his waffle, always forgetting Stan likes to take pictures of their food. Every. Damn. Time. He's in the background of the picture and already eating. 

“I love getting breakfast with you,” Kyle chuckled, Stan returning his famous shining smile. He took a look around the bohemian bistro they chose, always walking past it when they were in the city but never actually visiting. They decided today is the day but not before Stan insisted on walking along the whole main street to see what their options were. He then saw too many options and couldn't decide.

Not that Stan could ever decide.

But there was nothing better than a coffee spiced with cinnamon and cardamom and anise and some fluffy pancakes. The breakfast itself was great but what took Stan over the moon was having breakfast with someone who at times felt like his soulmate. He couldn't take his eyes off of the lights that hung around the walls, the enormous library or books. He barely noticed the song playing in the background but Kyle was quick to point out it was the one he first heard when he was on a holiday trip. And from there on he started rambling on about music. It was sweet.

  
“I can't believe we got it tattooed already,” Kyle squealed, rubbing his ankle. They sat on a bench near the river, balancing some elderflower wine on their knees. The farmer's market was nearby and they couldn't pass up on such an opportunity. Stan barely tore his eyes away from all the homemade goods, Kyle dragging him away from buying yet another backpack. He had to keep an eye on him because Stan’s closet was getting full. They, however, couldn’t leave without some homemade dumplings.

It was starting to look more like a food fest than a trip to get a tattoo.

It was nearing the evening. They wanted to go grab some dinner at the farmer's market, eyeing an Indian food truck but Kyle had a weak spot for veggie burgers. And they sold a lot of veggie burgers.

But most importantly, it was right after they got their tattoo. They barely found the studio, busting out a GPS to help them find their way. Stan was relaxed and calm, talking to the girl as if she was an old friend. Kyle on the other hand almost forgot to speak whenever she spoke his way. She asked what his tattoo meant for him. It was a question she liked to ask all her clients.

He wanted to say how it represented his growth during the last four years, really shaping him into the person he is today. That it reminded him that not everything is his fault and that he's past the troubles that were clouding his way. That it was a reminder of all the good things that were in his life and at the same time, a link he had with Stan.

He said it had a deep personal meaning and then stuttered some tangled thoughts. 

For Stan, it was a reminder to show love to everyone. Did his tattoo make sense? To him, yes. To anyone else, no. He'd like to keep that attitude with everyone. Don't judge. He's been judged and labeled plenty and it's not something he wants to do to anyone else. That was one part. The other was the wild but exciting journey that was high school and the strangle blessing that was Kyle. He matured into an adult with him and, well, it was something to celebrate. He really liked who he became. He learned to appreciate himself. 

Kyle didn't know what to expect but surprisingly, he wasn't afraid of it hurting even though it was a hand-poke tattoo. It stung but his ankle managed to get through it. After he was done and it was Stan's turn, he couldn't take his eyes off of the tattoo that crowned his inner ankle. 

While Kyle's 225 was in a curved line right above his bone, Stan's was in a straight line right in the middle of his ankle. They were almost the same but still managed to show how different they were. 

Stan couldn't hide the smile. They said ‘we got the tattoo’ probably 25 times in the last hour. But it was that exciting. It was so exciting and even though he never thought he'd get a matching tattoo with someone, getting one with Kyle just felt right.

After all, they agreed they were probably soulmates.

Stan liked to play with the thought they met in their past lives. Or that some people had an old soul that has been here for decades. Kyle thought that maybe your soul was on this earth until it fulfilled its purpose. But Kyle also believed they must've met before. 

And even if they didn't, they met in this life. And, as soulmates, that was the most important thing. Now that he knew what it was like to have a Stan in his life, he was sure they'd find each other in their next lives too. 

Because that's what soulmates do. And because Stan wouldn’t want a life where he didn’t know Kyle.

It sounded so cheesy and so cliche but he couldn't get enough of those three a.m. conversations they sometimes had when they both realized that they won't find anyone like would fit them this well. Sure they had their disagreements and their little arguments and sometimes Stan acted like a jerk and sometimes Kyle was being a real bitch but that was nothing compared to what they went through together. And what good times they had. 

How they flew through the world together since middle school. It wasn't always so rosy but they always had each other. They knew how to turn the day around. They went through so much together. First relationships, first kisses, first dates, first hookups. They survived high school together. They didn't know how but here they were, ready to set off for college.

High school really taught them a lot. To not take things so seriously. If your life is not at stake, nothing is. It also taught Kyle to never let Stan loose with a bottle of 18-year-old vodka at a party. It taught Stan to never push Kyle into social situations because the little introvert will just clam up. It taught them how to do the math for six hours straight and not die. It taught them how to memorize twenty unimportant dates for twenty minutes and then let them go.

It taught Stan how to trust someone with his whole being. It taught Kyle how to open up, even if it's only to Stan. It taught him how to speak of past things that bothered him and that there were people like Stan who had his back no matter what. That there were people who'd help him through his troubles, no questions asked.

It taught them that it was possible to talk to someone for hours on end and not run out of topics. 

They were worried about what to do next, now that this part of their lives was over. It scared them that they won't be spending so much time together even though it didn't mean much. They'd always find their way to each other. It's like a bird finding his way home, Kyle always said but that wasn't a box Stan liked to open because then Kyle would start speaking about the strange senses some organisms have and that's a monologue for a whole afternoon.

They didn't know how college will work out for them, both possibly in different cities. They didn't know. They couldn't say they were excited. But they were curious. And that was enough. 

No matter how hard things will get, the other person was their safe haven. The other person was their home. And you can always come home and feel like you haven't been gone for longer than a day. 

They learned how to enjoy moments by the river when they sat in the fresh grass and talked about nothing. The moments when Stan read them their horoscopes and tried to convince Kyle that their signs were totally compatible. The moments when Stan would accidentally start a conversation about illegal drugs or glam rock trivia and Kyle would speak for suspiciously long. It was sweet but also mildly terrifying, how much he knew about heroin. 

Kyle learned to appreciate Stan's long philosophical debates he had when he sometimes returned to his esoterical books. He'd talk about life and love and happiness and Kyle didn't say much but he enjoyed listening to Stan and seeing his point of view. He liked to learn from him. 

They couldn't put it all into words. But they could put it into numbers.

Two plus two equals five.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this has been a ride! i feel like i should mention that this was written for a friend, just to put all the cooky shit we went through in high school together into a story. from our tattoo to us falling into a river, i couldn't be happier to have went through it with her, truly a blessing. there's so much i didn't know how to put in but if i had to, it'd be 500 chapters long. it's been a little wild and it's been so lovely and i wouldn't give it up for the world


End file.
